


Memento Mori (Memento Vivere)

by Thelittlescrimshaw



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Mythology - Freeform, RFFA Valentine's Exchange 2018, Reylo - Freeform, Steampunk, fairytale, reylo au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 21:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelittlescrimshaw/pseuds/Thelittlescrimshaw
Summary: In which Rey is a spunky engineer apprenticed to Unkar Plutt, and Kylo is the God of Death. Hades/Persephone-esque, Reylo.





	Memento Mori (Memento Vivere)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennity/gifts).



> Based on the prompts: 
> 
> “Even gods find it hard to love and be wise at the same time.”
> 
> “Save me and I will save you.”
> 
> In which Rey is a feisty engineer and Kylo is the god of death.  
> I hope this is to your liking, Jennity! I had so much fun writing this :3

Their first encounter had been years ago: she’d been close to dying, and he was a shadow at her side as she teetered on the edge. Sometimes he coaxes mortals to jump; other times, he sits and watches, fascinated at the human spirit’s tenacity.

And she is a tenacious one: a starving child, alone in a barren wasteland just outside the bustling metropolis of the city. She was less than a mile away from the gates, from salvation...but when she’d stumbled, she fell, and she didn’t get up.

He kneels at her side, and feels her anguish.

_Getting up is so hard, and she is so tired…._

As part of her begs to die, another clings to life; she is a fighter. She will not come to death easily.

So Kylo Ren, God of Death, watches.

Her hazel eyes squint against the hot desert sun; her knuckles turn white as she crawls forward. When she looks up, she sees him.

This is a surprise: rarely do those on the brink see death, not unless they’ve made their choice. But the look she gives him is one of derision, of pure defiance. She will not come to death quietly.

So Kylo Ren, God of Death, sighs. He crouches down before her, his hand hovering over her brow. One touch, and it will be over. But…

“Can you help me?” she asks, voice raspy. “Just...help me up.”

His mortal heart breaks; she has no way of knowing, but were he to help her, she would turn to ash.

Less than kilometer away he sees them: a group of engineers testing out their steel mechanical horses, great pieces of mecha that will be refined for the war-machines. Humans can be cruel, he knows, but one of them has already spotted her and is running towards them.

He meets her eyes again. “Now is not the time,” he murmurs. “When you are ready, come find me.”

She gives him a stubborn nod. Kylo Ren stands, and watches as she is rescued. She is cradled in a lap, water is poured into her mouth. She is placed atop one of the mechanical horses, and taken back to the city.

For now, she is firmly in the realm of the living.

Kylo Ren is curious, but he is a busy god. He stops dwelling on her for a time.

That is, until he sees her in his dreams.

* * *

“You,” the girl says, arms crossed, stance wide, “Didn’t help me.”

It is a dream; he knows this instantly.

The two of them are in a garden; Kylo Ren recognizes it as the city where she’d been taken. The girl looks older, and is wearing a new tunic, with barely-scuffed boots. Her hair is combed; her trousers have no holes in the knee.

She is cared for, and he is relieved.

“I can’t,” he tells her.

She looks up at him, squints her nose. “What? D’ya not have arms or something?”

Kylo glances down at himself. Indeed, his arms are concealed within his billowing black robes. “I...I don’t…”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” she says with a shrug. “Lotsa people don’t. But,” her eyes glimmer, “I can build you some! I’m really good at building things. I can build you new arms. I could probably build you new legs, too…”

It is rare that Kylo has an opinion on the lives of mortals, but he finds himself glad that this one survived. He smiles at her, and says, “When you build them - when you are ready - come find me.”

He kisses her on the brow - something he can do in his dreams - so she will know where to look.

* * *

“What,” Rey asks him, “Is your name? I’m Rey.”

She’s had dreams of him ever since that day in the desert; she’s beyond questioning it now.

He looks down at her, surprise written on his face. “When you find me,” he says, “I will tell you.”

Rey lets out a huff of frustration. “Also - you tricked me. You do have arms.”

Her friend is wearing a sleeveless tunic today, the dark fabric a stark contrast to his pale arms. “So I do,” he says, and smiles at her.

“I’m gonna build arms anyway,” Rey declares.

“I’m sure they’ll be magnificent.”

“How will I know how to find you?” she asks. “I don’t want to be tricked again.”

He’s silent a moment, then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an onyx necklace. “Here. Wear this. It’s for protection.”

She takes it from him and clasps it at her neck. “I will.”

He smiles. “Good.”

* * *

He sees her in his dreams, over the years. As she grows up, the dreams become less and less frequent. Kylo Ren assumes that as she ages, she becomes further and further from his reach; he takes it as a sign that her life has become more stable, that her meals are frequent, that she's not so reckless.

He is happy for her, for no mortal has business with the God of Death, but…

But he is sad that her company is gone.

So very, very sad.

* * *

_To Miss Rey of Jakku,_

_It has come to my attention that you have devised a technique that would advance medicine - and, indeed, human life itself. As Fleet Admiral, I am very interested in your work._

_I am aware that you are apprenticed to Guildmaster Plutt. The First Order is prepared to pay off your apprenticeship debts of 100,000 credits  in exchange for your services as an engineer. Enclosed is a detailed contract._

_Regardless of your response, I request a meeting with you. I will be at the Niima Base for the next week. Please do stop by then._

_Regards,_

_Fleet Admiral Armitage Hux_

_First Order, Coruscant_

* * *

_When you are ready, come find me._

Rey isn’t sure what he’d meant - and she hasn’t seen him in over a year - but the offending letter had arrived on her doorstep that very morning; she has no other choice.

So Rey packs her bags and puts on her finest dress, tucks her onyx pendant against her sternum, tells her guildmaster that she’s on her way to see Fleet Admiral Armitage Hux. The old man gives her a grin full of rotting teeth, and tells her to give the Admiral his regards.

It takes all of Rey’s self-control not to punch out his remaining teeth on the spot. She isn’t stupid - she knows that Plutt had somehow seen her notes, found her prototypes, and contacted the First Order - conveniently raising her debts as well. She’d been less than a thousand credits away from paying him off - the _nerve -_

_The shit for brains bastard…_

She swallows her anger and gives him a saccharine smile, making sure to add an extra pep to her step as she leaves.

Jakku is at its busiest in the mornings; Rey blends into the crowd easily. Wearing a fine dress and with her hands covered, nobody will be able to recognize her as one of the engineers.

Rey makes it to the train station unmolested. To all eyes, she looks like an average woman living in Jakku: skin covered from the harsh sun in clothes nice enough to indicate propriety, plain enough to mark her as working-class. White gloves cover her calloused hands.

She purchases her ticket, boards the train, and places her suitcases in the overhead compartment. She’s not sure what she’s doing, not really, but she’d sooner take a knife to her throat than let Unkar Plutt sell her for his own gain.

_The greedy bastard...well, I’m sure the Fleet Admiral will be delighted to hear I’ve run away…_

Rey smiles to herself, imagining the shade of red Plutt’s face would be when he realizes he won’t be getting his credits. It wouldn’t surprise Rey if his heart gave out on him on the spot.

_When you are ready, come find me._

Rey leans her head against the train window and watches the desert landscape go by, and doesn’t question how she intuitively knows where to go; she doesn’t think about how unsure her future is, or what will happen once she finds him. For a split second, she has a creeping doubt - what if he isn’t real? What if she conjured it all up?

Her hand flies to the onyx pendant at her throat. No. _No,_ he had to be real.

And he saved her life, once upon a time. Perhaps he can save her again.

* * *

When she arrives, it is with a clamor (and later, he will reflect that it is such a _her_ way to arrive; graceless and feral, crashing in with fists clenched and teeth bared -)

The earth above him begins to fall, and crumble, and she tumbles down, several bags in tow. It is by luck alone that she breaks no bones when she lands on the marble floor of his temple.

She’s human; of that he is certain, and she wears a gown; fanciful and overdone, as is the fashion of humans now; it emphasizes her bust and cinches her waist, reveals shapely collarbones. But all the finery in the world could not conceal the sun-burnt face, the freckled shoulders, the chapped lips. Even her brown hair - once perfectly coiffed - has fallen loose. She is a sow’s ear, unsuccessfully disguised as a silk purse.

He watches from the shadows behind a pillar as she picks herself up and dusts off the seat of her dress. “Well. Better than being sold.”

She takes off her gloves, revealing calloused hands, and hikes up the skirts of her dress so she can navigate around the rubble and explore. She brushes the hair out of her face, and he recognizes her: the girl he’s seen in his dreams. The girl who didn’t die.

Kylo Ren’s mortal heart stops in his immortal chest. One does not become a god by ignoring the hand of fate, but what would bring her here? And why now, when the last he’d seen her was a year ago...

She’s entirely unaware of his presence, calling out, “Hello? Is anyone there?” To herself, she says, “I didn’t know there was a subterranean cult…” She walks to the altar, examines the unlit candles atop it. “He’s got to be here somewhere. I know it.”

He wants to correct her, but he bites his tongue. Instead, he says, “Who are you looking for?”

He does not dare show himself, not yet. He needs to be sure.

The girl turns around, gaze darting around the chamber. She hesitates, but says,  “An old friend. This is where he is, I’m sure of it. Didn’t mean to fall through, but I think I’ll be staying, if you don’t mind. Until I find him.”

He steps between the pillars, revealing himself. He remembers his blessing from years ago - _when you are ready._ But he had meant death, and the woman before him is very much _not_ dead. He had seen her in his dreams, yes, but…

If she’s here - and she’s alive - then he is happy. He is damned _joyous._ He had missed her, as much as he’d miss his right hand. And yet...

 _What,_ he wonders, _is she ready for?_

* * *

“So finally,” the man says, “We meet.” He steps closer, his dark robes trailing on the temple floor. His skin is porcelain-white and his hair is inky-black, and his eyes…

He makes a sweeping gesture and offers a wolfish grin. “You may call me Kylo Ren.”

Kylo Ren. The Death-God. _Oh, gods above..._ It takes her half a second to process, but then Rey can feel the blood drain from her face. “Does that mean I’m dead?”

Another smirk. “Not yet. You’re hardly the first moral to find herself here prematurely.”

Rey desperately tries to get her mouth to work - had she just crashed through _the God of Death’s_ ceiling and _invited herself to stay?_

But his voice...it had sounded so similar to her friend’s. She’d been at ease. She wasn’t _stupid._ Certainly not stupid enough to try and offend a _god…_

“You wish to stay, yes?” he says, gesturing at her bags. Another wave of his hand and the ceiling restored itself, erasing all evidence that she’d arrived. “Come. I can show you your quarters.”

“I - are you sure? Just like that? I won’t be interrupting anything? I mean - I’m sorry, Lord Death.”

Rey isn’t sure how one went about addressing a god, but she figures demurring can’t hurt. But he laughs outright.

“I’d prefer it if you called me by my given name. If you wish to stay here, Rey, you may. This is a slow place. I’m sure your friend would appreciate the company.” There is a glimmer in his eye when he says that; Rey can’t tell if he’s making fun of her or not, but she does not press the issue - especially since she hadn’t told him her name.

But then, she figures, the God of Death would know.

* * *

He shows her where she can sleep, then leaves her to her own devices.

Perhaps there had been a subterranean cult here, once upon a time. There are many cell-like rooms in the temple itself, all lined in a row like a dormitory.. Just outside of the room is the same marble floor and a high ceiling, supported by giant pillars. Just beyond the pillars is a courtyard of sorts, which to her surprise was home to a grove of trees and a small garden. The plants were unfamiliar, and Rey wondered how they could grow without sunlight.

The room is simple; there is a bed with a dusty mattress, a wardrobe, and a vanity that is empty save for a tarnished mirror set in even more tarnished silver.  

She unpacks her bags, putting her clothes in the wardrobe and carefully setting her tools on the vanity. She’d use it as a workbench, while she was here.

She turned to her bed, hands stilling at her sides. What was she _doing?_

It is no coincidence that Rey had her tools with her when she fell; if Lord Death found it strange, he did not comment. Maybe deliberately seeking out the god of death wasn’t the smartest option, but what else was she supposed to do? Allow Unkar to steal her work?

But also…

She couldn’t describe it: the compulsion that had led her here. The way that it felt almost _right_ for her to be staying here - in an underground temple dedicated to the _God of Death,_ invited by _the God of Death Himself._

But…

She fished out the gods-damned letter from the Fleet Admiral from her pocket. At least, she figures, she’d never have to worry about _this_ again.

* * *

Rey has been staying with him for almost a month. Kylo cannot determine what she hopes to gain from staying, but he is nonetheless excited. He has assumed the mantle of god so long ago that he’d forgotten what it is like to feel mortal.

He’s taken to visiting her in her quarters. Oftentimes she’s working on some contraption or another; other times, she’s taking a walk through the underground gardens.

“So,” she says one morning, when he visits her. “What do you _do?_ ”

They’re walking through the gardens; he’s showing her the true expanse of it all. “What do you mean?”

She gestures with her hand. She’s gotten paler during her time here, making the freckles on her skin all the more apparent. Idly, Kylo wonders what it would be like to trace them with his forefinger. “In your spare time. I get that you’re Death, but do you have to tend to the dead? Guide souls? Decide who’s damned and who’s saved?”

He clasps his hands behind his back, mulling the question over. How would he describe what he did? “I...exist. There is a land of the dead, so to speak, where their shades reside after death. I suppose you could say I manage that. This temple once existed as a place of worship; the peoples before you were superstitious. _Danse Macabre,_ they called themselves.

“But now this realm is dying; don’t look like that. It’s the natural cycle of things. Once an underworld is full - once those on the surface begin believing in a new afterlife - the old underworld fades, and a new one rises.”

“And what will happen to you?”

“I’ll join the old gods at their table. But even gods fade in time.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“It is the way of things,” he tells her. “Especially for realms like this - devoid of natural life.”

She looks skeptical. “You have flora here - and I’m assuming some fauna or another. It seems like there’s life. And…” she pauses, but then she says, “Watch.”

She moves off the marble path and steps into the grass, sits down. She plants her hands firmly on the earth, and leans back.

“Look,” she says, and he does.

Green grass, daffodils, and crocuses are blooming where here hands touch the earth. “Jakku is a desert,” she explains. “But it’s spring. And in more temperate climates, these are the flowers of spring. I think the underworld could be alive. If there were more living down here.”

For a moment, he is speechless. Truthfully, he’d never much worried about his fading realm; such was the cycle of things. Inevitable. Unstoppable.

But if he could save it...save himself from fading...and Rey, here, at his side…

He smiles at her.

She smiles back.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Rey jumps as he enters. She’d been so deep in concentration that she hadn’t heard him.

It’s mid-afternoon, and she’d been in her room all day. Part of him genuinely wants to check on her; another part of him misses her company. Her dress is casual: a simple gray tunic and brown leggings.  

“I, um,” she says glancing at the machinery at the table, then back to him, “It’s a prototype. I want to show my friend, when I find him.”

“Your friend, huh?” If she knows how loaded the word is, she does not comment. He doesn’t understand why she speaks of him this way; perhaps she is shy.

Perhaps she is ashamed to find out that her friend is the God of Death.

She nods. “He…I told him I’d make him arms, long ago...in a dream. I used to dream of him.” Red blooms on her cheeks. “He doesn’t even need them. It seems silly when I say it aloud. But...he gave me the idea, initially. Before I came here, I made automatons. Good ones. I had been working on making artificial limbs. I realized that my friend didn’t need them, but many others did. I could have worked for a hospital. It would have helped people, especially with the war. But...my guildmaster tired to sell me to the military. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Kylo wants to ask her more, but he doesn’t dare push her. He walks over to her, sits at the edge of her workbench. “So you came here?”

“So I fled,” she corrects. “I packed my bags, took my plans...I went looking for my friend. It was serendipitous that I stumbled upon your temple. Well. _Onto_ your temple.”

She flashes him a smile, and he feels his heart stop in his chest. “So thank you. For allowing me to stay. It is a much better fate.”

Oh, but doesn’t she know that he’d let her do much more? Instead, he says, “Show me how they work. The arms.”

Her eyes light. She picks up a piece - he supposes it would be the forearm - and says, “It’s just a prototype. This piece is assuming the elbow joint is intact - we’d secure it, just there, and use _aether_ \- some call it “the Force” - to replicate feeling and movement. The alchemists up above think that if we use someone’s blood, we can make the arms move only to their signature.”

“That’s quite a complex process.”

“Most medical things are,” she says, a hint of rue in her voice.

He peers over her shoulder, at some of the metal sculptures on her workbench. “You make art as well?”

“With scraps. It keeps me sharp.”

He reaches across, bracing his hand on the desk, and plucks a metal sculpture of a bird from the top shelf. Pretty and intricate, but plain.

“Have you thought of embellishing these?”

“I’m a bit limited with supplies. Gems - even just crystals - are expensive. When I could get some, though…” she smiles to herself. “It was lovely. Some of them would catch the light and make rainbows.”

They talk some more; Kylo coaxes her to have dinner with him. He eats more out of pleasure than necessity, but mortals needed nourishment. She does not see the denizens of the underworld work around them, does not question how their meal appeared at his table; he does not tell her that the temple is only abandoned by mortals, and that the underworld makes good use of it. He’ll tell her in due time, of course, but for now…

For now, he enjoys having a monopoly of her attention.

That night, he leaves a pouch of sapphires at her doorstep.

* * *

When Rey wakes the next morning, she trips over it, sending several sapphires spilling out. She bends down to collect them, incredulous. The smallest ones are no bigger than a ladybug,

He’s at his desk, making notes on parchment, inky hair falling over his nose when he looks up. He brushes his hair back and frowns. “Are they not to your liking?”

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ them, I just - _why?”_

“Why are you making those arms?” he asks, setting his pen down. His fingertips are stained with ink; the detail is so normal that Rey can almost forget that he’s Lord Death. Almost.

“I - I told you. My friend needs them..” She feels stupid, adding that last bit; it’s only the second time she’s said it aloud. She narrows her eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

There’s something unreadable in his eyes.

“No. I thought...I thought you would like them. The same way your...friend...would like his arms.” There is an awkwardness about him, a hesitance. The corner of his mouth twitches, and she watches the lines of his throat move as he swallows. “I thought you could adorn your automatons. Make more of those sculptures.. But I can take them back if you’d prefer.”

Rey opens her mouth, closes it, and suddenly feels very, very foolish.

“I...no. It’s all right. It’s a pretty gift.” He still looks hesitant; in an attempt to reassure him, Rey drops the sapphire she’s holding back into the pouch.

“So long as you like it.” Maybe she was imagining it, but there was a hopeful tinge to his voice.

“I do.” She goes to tuck the pouch into her belt, only to realize that she’s still wearing her nightgown. It’s not a flimsy garment, not by any means, but Rey still feels exposed. If Kylo cares about the impropriety, he doesn’t say anything.

“Right,” she says, thoroughly embarrassed. “Thank you. I”m, ah - I’m going to get dressed.”

He bids her goodbye, and Rey scurries away.

* * *

After that, hardly a day goes by when Rey doesn’t wake up to some precious gem on her doorstep. She always smiles to herself when she sees them. She begins adding them to her sculptures, even embellishes some of the smaller automatons with them.

She makes him a small metal sculpture of a bird. There’s a key in its back; winding it makes the bird’s wings flap. It’s rudimentary, but…well. Rey hopes he’ll like it.

He’d left emeralds on her doorstep the night before; Rey uses them for the eyes, and to embellish the wind-up key.

She leaves it on his doorstep that night.

* * *

Kylo is sitting so close that they’re almost touching; it takes all of Rey’s self-control not to tuck a stray lock of black hair behind his ear. So instead she tells him about the music box she’s working on.

“There’s an automaton on the surface,” she tells him, “That can play the flute. It’s remarkable. But I think it’s awfully unsightly; I prefer the smaller ones.” She opens the music box, points to the center of the lid. “I’m going to put a star sapphire here, I think.”

“That’s awfully romantic of you,” he says, and he gives her a small smile. Rey’s eyes move from those bright eyes to those full lips, and she swallows.

How sick must one be to want to kiss the God of Death?

* * *

That night, Rey sees him in her dreams.

She is in the doorway of her old room at the Guild, and Rey is immediately aware that she’s dreaming. Late afternoon sunlight streams in through the window, and he…

He’s just as tall and broad as she remembers, his dark hair slicked back. He’s standing at the foot of her bed, a smile upon his face.

“You’re here!” Rey gasps, and runs towards him, throwing her arms around his shoulders in an embrace.  

He tugs her to his chest and lifts her clean off her feet, spinning them around. “Oh, look at you,” he breathes, his face an expression of pure joy. “Look at you.”

Rey braces herself on his shoulder, unable to help the grin the spreads across her face. “I’ve been looking for you,” she murmurs, “For so long.”

“I’m right here,” he tells her. “Right here, Rey.”

“But only in my dream. Please,” she says, “Tell me where you are. Help me find you.”

He looks up at her, and there’s such a look of surprise on his face; for a split second, he and Kylo Ren look exactly the same: narrow face, full lips, bright brown eyes. Again, Rey is overcome with the urge to kiss him…

 _It’s just a dream,_ she thinks. And before he can respond, Rey presses her lips against his. He responds eagerly, his grip on her tightening.

“Finally,” he murmurs. “ _Finally_.”

Rey isn’t sure what he means, but she doesn’t ask. It feels _right._ And although part of her knows that this is wanton, sinful, that this is a dream and it’s not _real..._

His mouth yields to her; Rey cups his face, pulls his lower lip between her teeth. In response he holds her closer, one hand firmly on her backside and the other just under her thigh. She wraps her legs around him, tighter, and moans into his mouth when his tongue slides against hers.

Rey has never felt such want, such _need;_ it slices through her, makes the blood roar in her ears. She wants more. She wants _him._

He walks backwards until he can sit on the bed, never once stumbling. Rey kneels over his lap, breathless; he looks up at her and tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear, his eyes falling to the onyx pendant, now lying over her shirt instead of under it. “You kept it.”

“Of course I did.”

He plants his lips to the pendant, to her collarbones, and up her neck, his teeth scraping ever so slightly against her pulse point. Rey gasps and grinds against him on instinct, her grip on his shoulders tightening. “I - I need…”

He pulls back and looks up at her. “Yes. Tell me. Anything.”

She swallows. She’s never done this before, but oh, how she wants to, with her friend who looks like the God of Death. And maybe she’s being selfish, and maybe she’s nothing but a slattern, but she has never felt, deep in her very bones, something so _right_ as being kissed and held by the man before her.

“I want...I’ve never…”

He nods in understanding, and cups her face when he kisses her again. His teeth graze against her lips, and Rey drags her nails down his back in response, eliciting a soft groan from him. He fists a hand in her hair and pulls her head back, exposing her neck. He takes her earlobe into his mouth, and the hair on Rey’s neck stands up at the sensation.

“Whatever you want, my heart,” he murmurs, and nips at her neck, soothing it with his hot tongue. Rey keens and grinds against him in response, feeling his arousal. He hisses, rolls his hips against her; he explodes from her core and fire races through her veins.

He rips off his own shurt, then tugs her nightgown off her shoulders and her breasts spill out, and Rey doesn’t have a second to feel embarrassed before sharp teeth tug at a nipple and pleasure slices through her. She fists a hand into his hair and gasps, does all she can to not cry out _oh god please, more, more -_

A hand slides up her thigh, under the hemline of her nightgown. Rey gasps at his fingers trail up, up, pressing experimentally against her slick core. She splays her hands against the massive expanse of his chest, feels the soft skin over smooth muscle, and when he presses his finger to the tight pearl at the apex of her thighs, she rakes her nails down his chest in response.

Heat builds in her veins as he thrusts into her with his finger and pools in her core. She wants to touch him too, wants to make him moan and gasp and beg. This need, this want; she’d never felt anything like it before. Like she was starving, and he was her last meal. Like she might very well die if he pulled away. Like touching him was what kept her alive.

She feels like her nerves are tightening - and oh, that can’t be _her_ voice, that’s moaning and whimpering and begging for _more, don’t stop, please -_

Rey comes apart at the seams with a cry, clenching around him, arms and legs trembling. He holds her as her climax wracks her body, then ever-so-gently lays her on her back.

Rey cups her hand against him, feels his hardness, but he takes both of her hands in his and pins them above her head. He lowers himself down, dark hair spilling over his face and tickling her cheeks.

“Please,” she pants. “Let me...let me touch you.”

He gives her a wicked grin. “Not yet, my heart. I’m not done with _you._ ”

* * *

When Rey wakes in her own bed, it takes a moment to remember her dreams. Her face burns, and she is almost ashamed - almost. But she cannot help the smile the spreads across her face.

Still, she waits until her blush has faded before she meets Kylo for breakfast. Briefly, she wonders if he knows, if gods can see into the dreams of mortals. She dismisses the thought almost immediately, and desperately hopes he hadn’t seen.

She sits down. He offers her a coy smile.

“Did you enjoy your sleep?”

And Rey almost incinerates on the spot. She does her best to quell her blush, and says, “Slept like a rock.”

“Sweet dreams?” he asks, a fox-like grin spreading over his face.

“I don’t remember,” Rey says, voice strangled. She turns her attention to her plate, and does not look up for the remainder of the meal.

 _He knows,_ she thinks, mortified. _He so, totally knows._

* * *

When he appears in her dreams again, Rey forgets all her prior embarrassment. They’re in her old apartment again, lying naked on her bed.

He strokes her face. “Would you come with me, Rey? If I asked?”

“Yes,” she tells him. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” She surprises herself with how quickly she answers; even more with how true her answer is.

“And I you,” he murmurs, kissing her brow. “Would you rule with me?”

“Rule?” Rey pulls back and looks up at him. “So you fancy yourself a king, now?”

“Cheeky,” he chides, tapping her nose with his forefinger. “But would you?”

“Hmmm,” she says, eyes glimmering. “I suppose I could. But only if I were draped in the finest jewels. If I’m to be queen, I must dress the part.’

He laughs, a rich sound, and rolls on top of her. Rey splays her hands over the muscles of his chest, appreciating the strength of him. “You and I both know you’re not short on jewels, my heart.”

* * *

 

Rey presents Kylo Ren with a ruby necklace that next morning. It is beautiful - a ruby the size of his thumb set in a twisting cage of silver, almost looking like a heart.

He cannot contain his elation. Rey has given herself to him, and he to her. More exchanges of gifts are formality, a reaffirmation, and he’s not complaining. “For me?”

She smiles. “I thought you might like it.”

Kylo smiles back, clasping the chain around his neck. The ruby hangs against his sternum, matching where her onyx pendant would be. “I have something for you as well.”

He leads her through the barren halls of the temple. “My realm isn’t as it once was. The world above has changed, as has the world below. But you…” he stops before a great set of doors and looks down at her. Her eyes are bright and sharp and oh, how he wants to take his hand in hers. But he cannot. Not yet. “You have brought life to the realm of death. I would give you a throne here.”

He opens the doors; the shades of the underworld are lined up  on either side of them, bowing. Invisible to Rey, but Kylo appreciates the formality.

He cannot read the expression on her face. “The denizens of the underworld adore you. I enjoy your company. I can think of nobody else suited for the title.” He plucks the silver ring out of his pocket; should she wear it, she would ascend to the throne. She would be in between the realm of the living and the dead.

And, best of all, he could touch her without worry, outside of the throne room.

She looks around the throne room; the black marble floors, the high ceilings, the stained glass windows. Her eyes land on the silver thrones atop a dias at the end of the room, and flicker back to the ring in his palm.

“Is that what this all was?” her voice is low; she won’t look at him. “Some ploy to use me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am _not_ some prize -”

“No,” he agrees. “You are not.”

She looks up at him, gaze defiant. “Then why bring me here.”

“I’m offering you my kingdom.” _I am offering you my heart._

“I never asked for it!”

“You said you’d rule with me,” he retorts, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. “Just the other night!”

Her brow furrows. “What are you talking about? You never -“

“Do not tell me that you forgot,” he says. He is growing tired of humoring her, of pretending that they are not besotted with one another. “Or are you playing coy?”

“Forgot what? Kylo, you’re making no sense.”

Kylo glances around; the denizens of the underworld had made themselves scarce. They are in the throne room; if he touches her, she’ll not die here, at his touch.

“Forgot _this,”_ he growls, stepping forward and slanting his mouth over hers.

He ends it abruptly, stepping back. She looks shocked, confused; her hand comes up, fingertips brushing her lips. “Kylo…”

“Or are you only my wife in the land of dreams?”

Her expression grows sharp. “I am no such thing!”  

He feels his ire rising. “You accepted my gifts and offered your own in return. We consummated our vows. Do not tell me you’re unfamiliar with marriage customs. Or,” and he steps forward, “Is this part of the act?”

Her eyes widen in understanding, her mouth gaping open in horror. “Oh gods. Oh _no._ You - you never told me that you were him - why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“Did you not recognize me?” he sneers.

“No! I didn’t!” She looks to be on the verge of tears now; Kylo swallows his anger, his hurt, and says, “It was me. All this time, it was me.”

“I didn’t think…” she says, and swallows. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

He watches her leave.

She does not notice the flowers that bloom in her wake.

* * *

It pains him, but he respects her desire to be alone.

For three days he does not see her.

For three days his heart is in agony.

* * *

On the evening of the fourth day, the doors to the throne room are open.

Not daring to hope, Kylo Ren enters. Inside, Rey paces back and forth, but stops dead in her tracks when she sees him. She’s wearing her typical uniform: sleeveless tunic and leggings in muted colors. She does not wear shoes. Her onyx pendant is, in rare form, not tucked under her shirt.

“The first time I saw him,” she says without preamble, “I was nine, and I was dying.”

He does not interrupt; he schools his expression into one of neutral interest. He does not give away how much it hurts that she says _him_ and not _you._

“He didn’t save me, not exactly, but he spared me. He stayed with me until I was found. He showed up at odd times then - first in my dreams, but I could always sense him when I was in danger.” Her hand goes to the pendant. “He gave me this. I think it might’ve been to humor an indignant child, but he told me it was for protection. And when it got hot against my skin - that’s when I knew I needed to run. He would not tell me his name, but he did tell me: find me when you are ready.”

She takes a breath, wrings her hands. “When I received the letter from the First Order, that’s when I knew I had to get out. I packed my things, got on a train. I knew I had to go to the next city over; I’m not sure how, but I trusted my instincts.

“That’s when I fell. To here. To you.” She looks at him then with a piercing gaze. “I thought I’d died. Then I thought, maybe he was down here somewhere. Maybe he was dead, and I just had to find the right place down here for him to find me.

“And while I was here, I met you. Lived with you.”

Her voice almost shakes. Almost. “When he appeared to me in my dreams, I noticed that he looked like you. I don’t...I’m not sure how I didn’t see the resemblance when I first arrived. Expectation bias, I suppose. But I was elated to finally see him. So elated that I didn’t stop to think, or to ask how or why he was appearing now.”

She swallows thickly. “I didn’t know about the...engagement rites. That we were married. I knew I liked you, and I liked exchanging gifts with you. And I knew that I owed my life to him. That I loved him, even though I didn’t know his name.”

She stands and takes a breath, walks towards him. “I do not appreciate that we were married without my knowledge, with no witnesses. But when I am with you....” she exhales shakily. She’s standing within arm’s reach; if Kylo wanted to, he could reach out and touch her face, but he stops himself, clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides.

“When I am with you, I feel like I’ve never felt. Like I am finally where I belong. Like a piece of me was missing, and I’ve just found it.”

Kylo doesn’t dare speak; his heart hammers in his chest. Rey extends her hand and he takes it, pulls her flush against him. She twines their fingers together, and when he leans down to kiss her, she’s smiling.

“So,” she says, “You _can_ touch me.”

“In here,” he responds thickly. “Unless you - unless you ascend the throne. Wear the ring.” He shows it to her. Rey takes it in her hands, examines it.He watches her raptly as she slips it on. “It’s rather plain, isn’t it? Wasn’t I promised jewels?”

Kylo Ren, God of Death, laughs despite himself. He takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles, pulls her closer and kisses her lips. “You,” he says, lips brushing hers, “will be the death of me.”

**Author's Note:**

> 6000 words later, this bad boy got ahead of me.
> 
> It was so much fun to write though, especially the steampunk bits. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think <3


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